The Disposable

by Katherine Vick

  “…as the wind blows through her corn-silk hair!”

  “Oh the maid!”

  “Oh the maid!”

  “Oh the fair, fair maid!”

  “As she dances with a grace so pure and rare!”

  “Oh the maid!”

  “Oh the maid!”

  “Oh the fair, fair maid!”

  Gibber—at least Fodder was fairly sure that it was Gibber—was leading the vocals, with a fey and wistful expression on his face as he raised his scaly palms towards the sky as though in prayer. It was a posture that Bard would have envied. His companions, no less misty-eyed, had also turned their gazes skywards, although Fodder did note that their bat-like ears were swivelling in a variety of directions as though raking the trees for some sign of approach.

  “Over rock, over hill, down the meadow and the dale!”

  “She will dance, she will dance, through the forest and the vale!”

  “And I pray that when she comes, she will dance before me too!”

  “For, oh fair and beauteous maid, I love you!”

  There was a massed gasp of indrawn breath. And then with barely a hesitation, the AFCs launched en masse into their next verse.

  “Oh my fine and bonnie lass, will you come with me?”

  “Oh my maid!”

  “Oh my maid!”

  “Oh my fair, fair maid!”

  “For ’tis only in your arms I feel I am free!”

  “Oh my maid!”

  “Oh my maid!”

  “Oh my fair, fair maid!”

  But something was changing. Although not one single voice missed a beat, a mass of ears swivelled as one towards the trees just off to Fodder’s right. Unable to turn his head without embarrassingly lolling, Fodder was unable to squint in the appropriate direction; but out of the corner of his eye, he did spot a dark shape lurking in the shadow of the leafy boughs.

  Please be Dullard, please be Dullard, please, please be Dullard.…

  “Down to sea, up to sky, I will follow where you go!”

  “For my life is not mine, on your mercy I must throw!”

  “And I beg of you some sign that you hear my plea!”

  And then, with a unity that was both abrupt and shocking, the AFCs clamped their mouths shut and, as one, flung their left arms out almost in supplication towards the shadow in the trees.

  And from behind the trunk of a knotty old oak, a lone voice rose and in a soaring tenor, stepped in to complete the song.

  “For without you, all means naught to meeeeeee!”

  The powerful note echoed against the tree trunks for a moment, bouncing and dancing as though it intended to live on forever. But slowly, inevitably, the roar of the waterfall and the rustle of the leaves subdued it into gentle silence.

  Several of the AFCs were snuffling their noses and nodding with profound approval. Fodder could have sworn he saw Chomp wiping his eyes as he muttered “Bloody beautiful projection…” into his fingers.

  It was the sound of Fang’s hands clapping together that brought the brief, wistful moment of musical appreciation to an end. Rubbing his scales together thoughtfully, he did not offer so much as a glance in the direction of the trees as he turned to face his compatriots.

  “Well, I don’t know about you lads,” he exclaimed with vast and hearty enthusiasm. “But I feel much better for that merry singsong!” He leaned forwards then, extending one clawed finger before him and waggling it in emphasis at every word he spoke. “But we’d best be careful. It’d be easy for a bunch of prisoners to escape if we all turned our backs at once, like, and got distracted by something like an interesting tree or a pretty bird.”

  “He’s bang on right!” Gibber strolled over to his side. “We have to be on our guard, just like Thud told us. We have to report everything we happen to see! So we must make sure that what we see is what matters! We can’t let ourselves get…” He trailed off with a distinctly over-dramatic gasp of indrawn breath. “Oh look! A pretty bird!”

  Frenzy mirrored Gibber’s epic gasp. “Where?”

  “In that interesting tree!” One clawed hand shot out, pointing with melodramatic fervour in the direction of the slope down which Fodder and his companions had tumbled. “Hey, everyone! Turn this way and look at the pretty bird in an interesting tree!”

  As one, a dozen leathery winged shapes turned away from Fodder and his companions to stare with a deliberate intensity in the opposite direction. And in the shadows, Fodder could see a figure was moving, coming closer, sneaking at a crouch into the light.…

  It was Dullard. His clothes looked battered and his face was bloody, but he grinned dryly at his friends before shooting a fond glance in the direction of the cluster of AFCs in the middle of the clearing. A blue velvet bundle was slung over his shoulders; carefully, he laid Pleasance down on the edge of the grass. As far as Fodder could tell from the lack of kicking and struggling as Dullard had carried her, the princess had yet to rouse from her trip over the waterfall.

  “It’s very pretty!” Fang’s voice rang out once more. “And the tree is very interesting! I do hope that no old mate of ours comes sneaking out of the woods and steals the keys to the chains from off my belt while I’m looking at them!”

  “Yes!” Gibber added. “It would be terrible if our prisoners were being set free while our backs are turned!”

  With an unseen nod of acknowledgement for the hint, Dullard set off across the clearing at a soft-footed scurry, half-crouched as though he expected a hidden blow to fall. As far as Fodder could tell, his quiet caution was unnecessary—he suspected that Dullard could have crossed the clearing doing back-flips with bells tied to his wrists and ankles whilst yodelling and playing the drums for all the attention the AFCs would have paid him. But it seemed to make him comfortable and it was hardly the time to start critiquing his rescue.

  Dullard had reached the wall of leathery wings. Gingerly, he moved up behind Fang and gently began to peel one of the bat-like protuberances out of the way as he slipped one hand towards the leather straps wrapped around the creature’s body.

  “Do you know,” Fang remarked loudly as his companions continued to umm and ahh about what a fine combination of bird and tree they’d happened to stumble across, “I’m so intrigued by this pretty bird that I probably wouldn’t even notice if someone was looking for my keys on the wrong side of my belt!”

  “Oops!” Dullard let the wing drop back as he scurried, still bent over, to Fang’s other side. “Sorry!” he whispered hurriedly.

  “Gosh!” Chomp remarked at Dullard set to work teasing back the other wing. “Ain’t the world full of surprises today? That gust of wind moving through the interesting tree sounded just like someone apologising! Did anyone else hear it?”

  “Mmmm! Yep! A surprising gust of wind!”

  “It’s the kind of thing you’d expect from such an interesting tree, though.”

  “Yeah, ’specially one such a pretty bird would choose to sit in!”

  There was a metallic rattle and a grunt as Dullard yanked the ring of keys free of Fang’s belt. Carefully, he drew them clear of the hanging wing and delicately released his hold on it.

  “Thank you!” he hissed softly as he turned and moved swiftly across the grass in the direction of his chained-up companions.

  “You know,” Gibber declared as Dullard arrived at Fodder’s side, flashing the three of them a quick smile as he wiggled down between Fodder and Flirt and set to work on the padlock of their mutual chains, “I think that pretty bird must be the rare and famous Gratitude Bird. You know, the one whose call sounds like someone saying thank you?”

  “A Gratitude Bird. Ain’t we lucky?”

  “What a wonderful, if terribly distracting, thing to see!”

  There was a loud clunk. With a rattle, Fodder felt his chains slump. Hurriedly, he snatched his hands free of the restraints, just managing to catch his loose head and push it back as his momentum almost toppled it. He saw Flirt stagger to her feet, grip
ping her left elbow as she turned and darted in the direction of the packs. Shoulders was slower to rise, grasping his torso with a wince, but Dullard was rapidly at his side, helping him upright with solicitous hands. Fodder was quick to join him.

  “Are you all right?” he hissed, gesturing to the knot of blood tangling the prince’s dark hair and streaking down his cheek.

  Dullard nodded. “It’s superficial. I bounced off a few rocks but no serious damage. How about you?”

  “Broken neck. It’ll heal but it’s a nuisance.” Fodder pushed his wobbly head back into place once more. “We fell down that ruddy slope over there and rolled straight up to Thud. Flirt’s done her elbow in and Shoulders has cracked some ribs, but it’s nothing we can’t work through. The princess?”

  Dullard moved quickly to where he’d abandoned Pleasance’s slumped form. He paused to check her eyelids before hoisting her with thoughtful care back over his shoulders.

  “She hasn’t woken,” he murmured as he hurried back to join them. Flirt returned a moment later, wordlessly tossing one pack to Shoulders as she lifted the other and handed back their swords. “I thought she wasn’t that badly hurt, but I haven’t had a peep out of her. She must have hit her head harder than I thought.”

  Shoulders gave an indelicate snort as he strapped his sword back to his waist with a distinct air of relief. “If she was awake, you’d know about it, especially with the gag off,” he muttered. “Count your blessings!”

  “So now what?” Flirt exclaimed. “Where do we go from here?”

  “As far away from The Narrative as we can get.” Fodder gestured to the vivid light patrolling the nearby woods. It was unmistakably angling in their direction. “We need to take a few days and get healed before we’re ready to try anything.”

  “Salty Port still?” Shoulders hissed.

  Flirt shook her head. “Bad idea. The Narrative’s heading there next, isn’t it? What about the Wild Forest?”

  Fodder pursed his lips. “Well…”

  “You know, interesting as this tree is and pretty as I find this bird, there’s only so long a chap can hang around hoping his prisoners aren’t bloody well hurrying up and escaping!”

  Fang’s voice carried a slightly irritable edge. Gibber’s tone was an unmistakable echo of the sentiment: “Yes! It would be terrible if instead of standing around jabbering, they sodding ran for it right now!”

  “Mmmm!” Frenzy assented. “Especially since, besides the wind in the trees and the song of the Gratitude Bird, I’m sure I can hear Primp heading back this way!”

  “Bugger!” Shoulders was moving towards the trees in an instant. “Come on, we have to go!”

  “Wait!” Flirt cried. “We owe them a Gratitude Bird! Thank you!”

  “Thanks!” Fodder echoed.

  “Thank you so much, everyone!” Dullard added, swinging round so hurriedly that a mass of blonde curls only narrowly missed Fodder’s face. “I hope we can catch up soon! Oh, and lovely harmonies on the second verse!”

  “Ah, the Gratitude Bird!” Fodder heard Gibber exclaim. “Such a nice song!”

  Dullard was already turning back, and this time Fodder had time to duck as blonde hair swirled above his lolling head. He blinked. Wait a minute… Had Pleasance’s eyes been open?

  He hurried past Dullard as he followed Flirt and Shoulders rapidly towards the far side of the clearing and peered as best he could into her supine face. But no, the Royal eyelids were firmly sealed shut.…

  He shook himself. She couldn’t be awake or she’d be kicking up a fuss, trying to get back to Bumpkin and The Narrative. He must have imagined it.

  The edge of the woods loomed before them. Following Flirt’s back as best he could with his joggling head, he darted into their embrace, caught his foot on a jutting root, stumbled sideways, and fell straight into Primp.

  It was hard to tell who was the most surprised. The Officious Courtier had clearly been scurrying along in something of a hurry as he darted out from behind the unintentional concealment of the tree over which Fodder had tripped, his prissy tunic sweat-soaked, his momentum halted by the impact of Fodder’s body. His eyes bulged as the Disposable staggered back, scrabbling at the bark of the tree to regain his balance and straightening his head as Flirt and Shoulders wheeled in horror beside him. And then his gaze skipped past Fodder and fixed upon the dishevelled, princess-laden form of his nephew.

  Dullard’s eyes were wide. He bit his lip.

  “Uncle…” he started anxiously.

  Primp closed his eyes, one thrust palm whipping out to cut off the sentence. “Don’t!” he exclaimed, his voice taut and pained. “Just don’t say a word, Dullard; I don’t want to hear it.” His eyes still closed, he grimaced and shook his head. “I thought your mother raised you better than this. What’s she going to say when she finds out, hmmm?”

  Dullard gave a nervous little smile. “She always used to tell me that I could do whatever I liked as long as I had a good reason for it.”

  Primp opened his eyes again simply for the pleasure of rolling them. “Oh, she would, wouldn’t she?” He shook his head once more as he glared around at the four still frozen, still horrified statues before him, settling once more upon his nephew. “I must be mad,” he muttered caustically. “Right. This is for your mother’s sake and hers alone. You’ve got twenty seconds and then I yell for Thud. Don’t waste them.” He glared as he drew in a deep breath. “Twenty!” he snapped out. “Nineteen! Eighteen!”

  “Run!” Fodder didn’t need Dullard’s exclamation to set his legs pumping again; both Shoulders and Flirt were already on the move. These woods were less heavily thicketed than those atop the impromptu waterfall, but as Primp’s countdown echoed in his ears, he knew that thinner undergrowth would be of no advantage when their flight might be more easily spotted. Through the trees away to their left, The Narrative gleamed between the trunks, a predator waiting to pounce. If they were forced into a Narrative fight with the injuries they were carrying…

  Trees whipped past on either side as Fodder stumbled over the uneven ground, his madly wobbling head making it almost impossible for him to tell where he was going. He could catch only glimpses of the silvery shapes that were Flirt and Shoulders as they plunged through the trees ahead of him, of the pale outline of Dullard with his blue-and-yellow burden as he huffed and puffed at his side. And behind, fading but not far enough, he could hear the final faint whisper of Primp’s countdown.

  “Two! One! Thud! Over here! They’ve escaped and they’re over here!”

  Bugger.

  The whack of a branch against his face knocked his head to an irritating angle. Pursuit or not, he couldn’t go on like this.

  Flirt and Shoulders didn’t notice as he staggered to a halt, too caught up in their own flight, but Dullard skidded to a stop a few yards in front of him, Pleasance bobbing loosely as he wheeled sharply, his lips parted with questions. But Fodder had no time for them.

  “Keep going!” he snapped. “I’ve got to strap my neck!”

  Dullard’s head swivelled towards the Narrative light gleaming through the trees. It was undoubtedly getting brighter and the distant sounds of hoofbeats echoed against the trunks. “But…”

  “Go!” With a hearty tear, Fodder ripped a vast strip off his battered surcoat and began to wrap it hurriedly around his loose spine. Dullard dithered a moment longer, but at Fodder’s fierce expression, he screwed up his nose and, with obvious reluctance, turned and bolted in pursuit of the others.

  It was the work of seconds to wind the thick material into place and knot it firmly. It was no neck brace, but it would keep him looking in one direction until…

  Light…

  The arrow missed the Sleiss soldier’s head by inches. Zahora hissed and ground her teeth as the tattered rascal gaped at her for an instant before turning and bolting for the cover of a nearby stand of oak. As he plunged into the leaves…

  …lost

  Damn, damn, damn! Fodder cursed fluently
as he staggered, struggling to shake off the weight of the sudden burst of Narrative as he hurled himself as fast as he dared in the opposite direction. Where the bloody hell had that come from? The Narrative had been close but not that—

  A burst of light erupted in the trees ahead of him. He caught the barest glimpse of shining metal plates and a horse’s flank before he dived headfirst into a nearby stand of hawthorn, crouching and struggling to suppress the sound of his breathing as the brightness skimmed past him in the flurry of hooves and creaking metal that signified Clank.

  Realisation dawned. Oh, the Taskmaster was clever; he gave the blighter that. The Merry Band must have split up amongst the trees, and now The Narrative was bouncing from point of view to point of view, ready to pounce at the first sign of them.

  The glow of light vanished as abruptly as it had appeared. Slowly, Fodder backed his way out of the hawthorn bushes, drawing his sword in an awkward, steely shiver. Why did he have the feeling this was not going to end well?

  “Diiiieeee!!!!”

  The swing of the axe blade missed Fodder’s face by less than an inch. As he stumbled back with a cry of shock, Thud’s vast, bearded face leered down at him in manic fury.

  “You won’t get away this time!” he roared madly, spittle flying from his lips to splatter across Fodder’s cheeks with unpleasant dampness as one beefy hand lashed out to slam him against the branches. “I’m going to hack you to bits, you little bastard! I’m going to rip off your limbs and wear them as trophies! I’m going—”

  Light…

  “—to see you rue the day you slaughtered my poor brother!”

  Gort the dwarf reined in his mule in sharp, violent shock. His jaw dropped as he drank in the scene before him: the daunted figure of the battered Sleiss soldier, his back pressed against a spiky stand of hawthorn as the towering bulk of a shockingly familiar figure loomed over him with his awesome axe raised high.